Chapter 9 - Saint
Sofia had known more than she admitted.
Not everything.
Enough.
When Anthony DeLuca began trying to escape Saint’s network, he used St. Augustine’s abandoned rectory for secret meetings.
Sofia had followed him once.
She saw three men enter.
Her brother.
Daniel’s father.
And a third figure.
“Who?” Matteo asked.
Sofia shook her head.
“I never saw the face.”
“Man or woman?”
“I assumed man.”
June caught the word.
“Assumed?”
“The person wore a long coat. Hat. It was raining.”
Matteo paced.
“You stayed silent for eighteen years.”
“I had two children.”
“And Elena?”
Sofia flinched.
“I tried to warn her.”
June thought of the red dress.
The cruel comments.
The hostility.
“You tried to drive me away too.”
Sofia looked at her.
“Yes.”
“By humiliating me?”
“Yes.”
“That was your protection strategy?”
“I am not good at warmth.”
Caterina would have agreed.
June crossed her arms.
“Did you send the dress?”
Sofia nodded.
“Why red?”
“Because white would make photographs look like a real society wedding. Red made it appear eccentric. Transactional.”
June stared.
“That is absurd.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the card about Elena?”
“Yes.”
Matteo stepped toward her.
“You weaponized Elena’s death against June.”
Sofia’s composure finally broke.
“I wanted her gone before Saint noticed her.”
“Saint already noticed her.”
“I know.”
Regret filled Sofia’s face.
“That is why I became desperate.”
June understood something then.
Sofia was not kind.
But cruelty and evil were not synonyms.
Sometimes fear wore ugly clothing.
They prepared for the church.
Matteo wanted June nowhere near it.
June refused.
“I’m part of the exchange.”
“No.”
“I can identify the original records.”
“No.”
“I know the docket trail.”
“No.”
“Is that the only word you know?”
“When you propose getting kidnapped, yes.”
June stepped close.
“You cannot protect me by locking me in a mansion full of suspects.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“I can try.”
“Matteo.”
Something shifted.
Their argument stopped being tactical.
It became personal.
“You think Elena died because you failed to protect her,” June said quietly.
His eyes darkened.
“Do not.”
“So now you’re trying to control every decision I make.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
June softened.
“But keeping me alive is not the same as choosing my life for me.”
Silence.
Matteo looked away.
That hurt because she was right.
Finally, he nodded.
“You stay beside me.”
June almost smiled.
“You say that a lot.”
“Because you keep ignoring it.”
At ten that night, they entered St. Augustine.
No police.
Matteo had alerted one federal contact through Daniel, but only enough to create backup if things went wrong.
The church smelled of damp wood and dust.
Candles had been placed near the altar.
Someone had prepared the space.
Caterina sat in a chair.
Hands tied.
Alive.
A masked figure stood behind her.
Matteo carried a bag containing copies.
Not originals.
June stood beside him.
“Release her.”
The masked figure laughed.
A woman’s laugh.
June felt Matteo tense.
The figure removed the mask.
Mrs. Kaplan.
June stared.
“No.”
Her supervisor smiled sadly.
“I wish you hadn’t come.”
Matteo raised his weapon.
Mrs. Kaplan pressed a gun to Caterina’s neck.
“Lower it.”
He did.
June could barely speak.
“You sent the threatening photograph?”
“Yes.”
“You attacked Lena?”
“No.”
“You stole the ledger?”
“No. I told you I did because I needed to know what you had found.”
“Why?”
Mrs. Kaplan looked tired.
“Because Elena was closer than she understood.”
June’s mind spun.
“Are you Saint?”
Mrs. Kaplan laughed.
“No.”
Then why?
A second person stepped from the darkness behind the altar.
Margaret Hale.
The cleaner.
The woman who gave June the locker key.
June’s stomach dropped.
Margaret carried a gun.
Mrs. Kaplan looked at her.
“You’re late.”
Margaret replied, “Traffic.”
Too casual.
Too rehearsed.
Matteo looked between them.
“You worked together.”
“For years,” Margaret said.
June whispered, “For Saint?”
Margaret smiled.
“Against Saint.”
Nothing made sense.
“Then why kidnap Caterina?”
Mrs. Kaplan’s expression hardened.
“Because Caterina knows who Saint is.”
Every eye turned toward the old woman.
Caterina sat rigidly.
Matteo looked wounded.
“Nonna?”
She closed her eyes.
June stepped forward.
“Tell him.”
Caterina opened her eyes.
“I tried to protect this family.”
The phrase.
Elena’s warning.
Do not trust anyone who tells you the family must survive at any cost.
Matteo heard it too.
His face changed.
“Nonna.”
Caterina began to cry.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
“I created Saint.”
Silence.
Matteo looked as if the floor had disappeared.
“You?”
Caterina shook her head.
“Not the person. The system.”
She explained.
Thirty years earlier, when DeLuca businesses were close to collapse, Caterina created a secret fund to bribe inspectors, secure contracts, and pay intermediaries.
She called the authorization Saint’s Directive because the first payment had been routed through a charity named St. Anthony Foundation.
“At first it was survival,” she whispered.
“Then Anthony took control.”
Matteo said, “My father?”
“No. He tried to stop it.”
“Then who?”
Caterina looked toward the church entrance.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow.
Measured.
A man walked inside.
Carlo DeLuca.
Matteo’s uncle.
He carried a pistol.
Behind him stood six armed men.
May you like
Caterina whispered the answer.
“Carlo became Saint.”
